Magnum Opus
by starstruckgazer
Summary: Historical AU. Ichigo, sent into the city, has to learn magic and alchemy. His peaceful existence is disrupted when he meets a hypnotic stranger and is caught up in a crossfire between two factions. Magic, alchemy and Aizichi slash.


**Magnum Opus**

**Chapter 1**

Year of Our Lord 1346

Thursday, 23rd of August

The dawn rose fair and bright over the far away hills, tinting the few wispy clouds that were floating in the sky a light orange. Ichigo sighed for the umpteenth time. As soon as the sun rose fully, he would have to leave and never see his family again. For an apprenticeship as a physician. In the capital city, days away from home. The thrill of excitement ran through him: he wanted to see new people and new things, explore places and learn; but leaving his family like this, with him having only of fifteen years of age, was so heart-wrenching he couldn't bear it. He knew that, if he went, things would get better for them: they would have one mouth less to feed and they would be able to afford something more. But, selfishly, he wanted to stay.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he rose from bed, and not a moment too late: his father came rushing in to hug him, but managed to strangle the pillow instead. His sister, Yuzu, giggled a bit as she saw the scene: Ichigo walking towards the back door, chamber pot in hand, and her father vying for his attention – unsuccessfully. Her smile faded a bit, thinking her brother had to go away, but she quickly got back to cooking breakfast.

Ichigo sat down at his usual place, nearest the fire, its flame already hot, as the coals had been left burning during the night. He could hear the sleepy village waking up as well: a cart rolled by, chamber pots were being emptied next door, and a small girl passed in front of their window, hauling a bucket of freshly drawn water from the well further down the street.

Karin emerged from her bedroom with a yawn, demanding breakfast. Everything went on at its normal pace, things repeated themselves like they had every other day, and yet, the change could be seen and smelt in the air, whether it was Yuzu's nervous glances or Karin's excessive positivity, or his father's long face.

They ate breakfast in silence, no one daring to make sounds other than chewing and lifting hot porridge to their lips, no one wanting to break the normality of such a common act.

Yet, knowing he had to do this, Isshin found the courage to speak up.

"Your things are ready, Ichigo. They're in the bedroom." A sad look came over all their faces, and Isshin lowered his head. "I'M GOING TO MISS YOU MY SON!" Ichigo didn't quite expect it, but managed to dodge a sniffling, crying Goat-face dead set on strangling him.

"All right, all right, no need to be so emotional!"

He went back to his breakfast with a frown, his father sniffling dejectedly. Yuzu's eyes had filled with tears. Even Karin was distressed.

He finished his porridge, and put the bowl in the sink wordlessly, the normality, the commonness of such an action – never to be repeated in quite the same way – giving him the feeling of the inevitable, of the end of it all coming near. He could feel the new beginning right after it, like the promise of the sun's rising at the darkest hour of night.

He went slowly, deliberately, towards his tiny room, on top of the stairs, no one speaking, all understanding that last moment of living there, sharing the house and eating together, chatting, helping each other out, comforting. He opened the wooden door, slowly, squeaking on its hinges, not wanting too see the bundle, already packaged and ready, that lay on top of the blankets, under the window.

The sun had risen a while ago, the molten gold light landing on the bed directly under the tiny windowpane and illuminating his hair about him, creating an orange halo over his head. He ran his hand over the slightly coarse walls, painted the faintest blue, barely there, nearly nonexistent. The wooden door frame was smooth and dark and cool to the touch, like the plaster, and it smelled like home. Waking from his momentary pause, he crossed the small expanse of the floor, hearing it creaking under his weight, feeling its texture through a pair of hand knitted woolen socks – his Christmas present from Yuzu. He opened the small wardrobe's door, checking that he had forgotten nothing, looking for memories and an excuse to tarry – the trip was long, and he was loath to go away from home. The wardrobe was empty, but what really mattered was the marks he'd accidentally left when he hid in it, still wearing a pair of heavy shoes that had somewhat bent the wood underneath. The smell of wood and dried lavender reached his nose, and his eyes stung with tears.

He fought them back. He wasn't supposed to cry. He was being sent to learn a good job, and his father had paid for it, and the future was bright and shining for him. He shouldn't be sad, and he shouldn't cry. He was a man and he would be dignified as one.

Closing the wardrobe doors and the memories of bliss and summer days of happiness, he went over to his bed, looking at the low green hills folding under the small town, hiding what should appear further down. The golden light could once fill him with wonder and joy, but now it just seemed to remind him all that he couldn't have anymore.

He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, dreading the moment he needed to go. Closing his eyes and inhaling, he steeled his nerves. When he'd been younger – not that younger, actually – he'd oft desired to leave the tiny village, where everybody knew the other's intimate life, and travel, far across the sea, towards France and Italy and the lands of the Turks, to places where things were new and fresh and always different. He dreamt of travelling far over the ocean, towards Avalon and King Arthur. He wanted to know the world, to understand the minds of all the men who inhabited it, know of strange creatures and defeat monsters of legend.

He smothered the smells of incense and foreign spices and odors, and rose, picking up his pack and heading, wearily, towards the door. He couldn't help but feel excited about what was to come; the sun was rising again for him, his real life started now, when he went downstairs and told his father he was ready and bid farewell to his family. He disgusted himself. He should be displeased about going, and he was, in a way, but he couldn't reign in his excitement: he was to know new things, to know people and places, but he still wished he could stay with his family, in the tranquil life they had created themselves.

But he went downstairs, bundle in hand and ready to handle the pain of leaving the nest for the first real time in his life.

His father patted him softly on the back, managing to obtain a promise of behaving well as he handed him a pair of sturdy leather boots, in which he wouldn't have to walk in just yet – a friend of his father's was heading towards the capital as well and had agreed to bring him on his cart with him.

Yuzu was clinging to him, tears in her eyes, sobbing softly into his tunic, clasping it between her small hands. Even Karin was tearful. He kissed both their foreheads softly, patting the crowns of their heads. Both burrowed their faces in the folds of his tunic, wetting it with their tears. Isshin just watched from afar.

"Make sure to take good care of Goat-face while I'm gone." Both nodded slowly but resolutely, the soft silk of their hair bobbing up and down. "I'll miss you so much… as soon as I can, I'll bring you something from the city." Yuzu mumbled her 'thank you' through tears, but Karin was quiet and sullen.

"I don't want you to go, Ichi-nii!"

Ichigo was a bit taken aback. Karin was, usually, strong and resolute. She seemed shattered now.

"Don't worry, Karin. I'll be back sooner than you think." The words came out easily, without trouble, but he knew he was lying, not only to his sister, but to himself as well.

He gave them a parting kiss, and then, gathering his satchel, bid farewell to his father as well. For a moment, his father actually managed to be serious. His voice was grave and solemn, but he couldn't help but feel proud for his son, off to learn a respectable job. He extracted a slightly grubby bundle from his pocket and pressed it into his son's hand. Ichigo looked inquisitively at the object, a small wooden rectangle with a feather attached to it, clutched in his hand.

"Don't look at it like that, son! It's a good-luck charm your mother made me once!"

Ichigo looked at it in wonder. He could remember his mother clearly, even after all the time that had passed, but she had been seldom mentioned in the Kurosaki household – so seldom that sometimes Ichigo forgot he had ever had a mother at all until guilt stabbed his chest again.

"I… I cannot accept it, father! You must keep it!"

Isshin smiled. "Fye, fye, Ichigo, I don't need it anymore. Or at least, you need it more than I do." A knowing glint passed through his father's eyes, leaving Ichigo thoroughly baffled. His father had never, on any occasion, displayed such a look. It was eerily disquieting. The room was quiet but for Yuzu's sniffles, but the silence was broken by the cart pulling up in front of the house, and the merchant's knock upon the door. Isshin's normal countenance reappeared, and he was laughing and joking with Ichigo all the way to the door. There was a great collective hug, and sniffles and tears from Yuzu, and finally Ichigo walked out of the door. That precise moment was the starting point. The past was the past, and now he was starting a new life. He climbed on the back of the cart, waving towards his family, and the girls followed running, until he was outside the village borders. The wind of change blew over his face.

XxX

After a moment of dizziness, he became used to the rolling movement of the cart, and to the ruts in the road, that sent jolts up his spine every time the small ox-driven cart passed over a pothole. The merchant, who was also driving, was silent and had no wish to speak, so Ichigo turned to the task at hand: examining the amulet. Its surface was worn and smooth, as if many a hand had turned it over in their hands, as he was doing. A slightly faded blue feather dangled from the bottom and it could be held by a small skein of silken cloth. It was carved with an intricate Celtic knot, and a strange symbol, that he had perhaps seen once before, was at the very center of it: it was a small snake, eating its own tail and forming a perfect circle. Small symbols and geometrical figures were barely distinguishable in the circle it formed. He ran his hands once more over it, marveling at its smoothness and wondering where he'd already seen the mysterious symbol. It seemed so familiar to him, yet at the same time terribly foreign.

Sighing, he put the amulet back in his satchel, and watched the countryside rolling by at an easy pace. The oxen walked at a slow gait, calmly moving about their own way, hardly ever needing to be directed y the merchant, as if they had walked the road innumerable times. The clouds that had lingered in the morning air had thickened, and now Ichigo was as if under a pearly-grey dome, the masses of air shifting often, creating shapes and forms that belonged to dreams or nightmares. Once, Ichigo believed to have seen a dragon, only to realize, a few moments later, that it was just a cloud. He nearly laughed at his own foolishness.

It was around ten o'clock, and all around him the fields were being planted, women holding seeds in their pulled-up aprons, tossing them in handfuls in the ruts left by the plough, some singing softly to themselves or talking to the woman next to them. Every so often the fields were interrupted with strips of dark woodland, resounding with the cries of many birds and animals. The sun rose higher in the sky, and Ichigo, with a bored yawn, extracted a small and rather battered leather-bound volume from his satchel, along with a piece of bread to eat. He fingered the worn vellum pages softly, caressing the spine for a moment and thinking of home. His father had given him the small book as a present, on his twelfth birthday. It contained tales of long, long ago, when the land was ruled by the mighty King Arthur and there were fantastical adventures, maidens to save and the Grail to be found. He'd read the stories with fascination, reliving the details in his mind, letting the pleasant glow of legend wash over him, best if sitting by the fire, in which the characters seemed to move, to relive and take shape. When he wasn't dreaming of travel, he dreamt of joining the Round Table, and heading off for quests and adventures.

He amused himself with reading until they stopped at midday, both to let the oxen rest and to eat. The merchant was silent during lunch, as they sat beneath a large tree, watching the oxen graze at the nearby grass. The merchant gave them a bit of hay and water to drink, and then Ichigo climbed again, wordlessly, into the cart, and went back to reading his book. The clouds were clearing up a bit and blue sky started to show an hour after the meal, and the light illuminated the fields and tree groves. However, a chill wind began blowing, and Ichigo drew his woolen cloak closer to his body, relishing in its warmth.

They reached the inn at dusk. It wasn't particularly big, but it was clean and serviceable. They were served hot pottage by the innkeeper's plump wife, and the merchant left Ichigo alone at his table, moving towards a group of other men that he seemed to know. After supper a minstrel took up his instrument and began playing a ballad. Ichigo listened, entranced, until the merchant, slightly tipsy and unwilling to get any more inebriated, lead him up to the room they both shared, muttering gruffly about getting up early the next morning and having nearly reached the city. Ichigo nodded in understanding and both prayed before getting in bed, or, in Ichigo's case, the cot.

XxX

When dawn rose, the room was already empty. He drank in his surroundings with mild interest, not wanting to leave the warmth of the cot. Though it was on the floor, and the inn was drafty, letting in the cold night air, the covers had managed to keep him warm, and now he was loath to abandon the cocoon he'd formed around himself.

Finally, he got up, dressing and taking his satchel downstairs. He ate breakfast, once more, in silence, alongside the merchant. His behavior was more taciturn than usual, his brows deeply furrowed as he looked out the window. Heaving a great sigh, he abandoned his worries momentarily, beckoning Ichigo with a finger and paying the innkeeper. They set back on the road again, when the sky was still pale and many were still sleeping in the comfort of their homes. Some farmers were already awake and set on their tasks, and Ichigo could see them from afar, milking cows or leading out animals for pasture. When they passed through small hamlets or villages, the inhabitants were already busy; in the market, meat and vegetables were sold, the smithy was already emitting clangs of metal on metal and bellowing out copious amounts of dark smoke, women were washing clothes by the well and hanging them to dry wherever they chanced. Life was calm and proceeded as it had always had.

Once, while leaving a town, a company of many lords and ladies passed them by: they rode on well-groomed horses, the ladies' dresses and cloaks fluttering in the wind. They were probably moving to one of the lords' castle in the country, maybe for a feast or hunting party. The ladies chattered pleasantly among themselves, or flirted with the men. Everyone in the party was brightly clad, the clothes embroidered in the finest details. At the head of this procession of sorts was a servant, bearing a flag with a coat of arms embroidered on it, and a musician played for the crowd, following them on foot and strumming his lute, singing a love ballad.

Ichigo looked at the crowd with interest, and would gladly have continued doing so, but the merchant, unwilling to be slowed down by such a crowd, made the oxen speed up as much as possible, and soon the procession, which was travelling slowly, became distant, and he couldn't hear the musician's playing anymore.

As before, they stopped at noon to rest the oxen and to eat, always without speaking a word. Maybe it had been just his impression, but Ichigo thought the merchant had been eyeing him strangely since the beginning of the trip. He paid no attention to it, however, and resumed eating his bread and cheese.

XxX

In the afternoon they finally reached the city. Ichigo couldn't help but turn to look at everything: it was so completely different from his village. The houses were all made of stone or plaster, unlike the wooden ones that prevailed in his village. And the people were so many, and so different, that he only half-noticed some of the churches, enthralled by the swirling mass of people that wandered London's streets. Then, they reached a market. Ichigo had been to many a market, but this was unlike any he'd ever seen: there were colored tents filled with spices, that hung heavily in the air, their heady perfume clouding his mind. In the center of the square there was a raised platform where there were curious animals and circus performers, gypsies that could make a coin appear out of nowhere and spirit away a girl beneath a cloth. There was music, and merry-making, and children running about, chasing each other. Women were buying food and bargaining with the vendors, and camelots sat peddling their holy relics to anybody. At this point, the merchant bid him to climb down, and Ichigo did so in a daze, enthralled by the sheer amount of curiosities and delicacies in the big square. There were bunches of exotic fruits and imported cloths that shimmered differently as the light hit them, incense sticks that smelt of anything imaginable and hot cakes, coated with honey and decorated with small edible flowers, sold by a girl, and the performers in the middle of the square, minstrels not far away, telling stories of knights and maidens in distress. The merchant's gruff voice seemed to come to him from far, far away.

"Go down that street to left till the next crossing. Urahara's shop's there. And farewell."

Ichigo bid him goodbye as well, thanking him, and crossed the square, drinking in the sights and smells and sounds, his hometown laying forgotten in the recesses of his mind.

The market had been crowded, but the tiny, winding streets were even more so: carts and horses obstructed the way and there were people bustling about everywhere he looked. After a few wrong turns and mistakes, he finally found the shop.

It was a small stone tower, three floors high, with colored glass windows and covered in crisscrossing vines of ivy and other plants. The fragrant smell of spices seemed to intensify as he got nearer. He picked up the bronze knocker, rapping the door softly, half-afraid of what he would find within.

A small black-haired girl opened the door, broom in hand, questioning him with a timid voice. "What is your business, sir?"

"I'm Ichigo Kurosaki. I'm here for my apprenticeship."

The girl's eyes widened a bit, but then she nodded and said a soft "Follow me."

She led him to the back of the shop, passing huge jars filled with liquids and herbs and curious-smelling tinctures in small pottery jars. The shop was, up to now, the most exotic place he'd ever been: it didn't only sell all sorts of medicines, but it was also stocked full of strange objects and big, dusty leather-bound books. There were bags of spice heaped in a corner, and the air was full of their smell. Bunches of dried plants hung from the ceiling rafters, and the whole place was covered in a not indifferent layer of dust. Light poured in from the colored window pane, tingeing shelves and the floor with fantastical colors. Petals and bits of ingredients were strewn across the floor and a desk, near the back of the shop, was hardly visible beneath all the clutter on top of it: there were plenty books, left open, pieces of paper and receipts and notes scrawled with illegible letters. The books were covered with strange symbols and drawings, and the space left free by the books was covered with jars and scrolls of parchment, and tiny sparkling object that seemed to have no use whatsoever.

The girl was already at the door leading to the house, beckoning him silently to follow. Ichigo broke out of his trance, realizing only then that he'd been staring, enraptured, at the room, and had barely noticed anything else.

She lead him through a small and narrow, lightless corridor, in which there were more shelves with even more jars and heaps of ingredients and dust. The collected smell of it all made Ichigo's eyes water. The corridor continued in both directions, but the girl turned right, and Ichigo left behind him two closed doors, leading off to other rooms. To the right, instead, there was a single door at the end of the long, cramped passage, left slightly open, a crack of light illuminating a tiny portion of the floor. The girl knocked twice, opening it only when a sing-song 'Come iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!' came from within. Ichigo started to have serious doubts.

The room was quite dark, heavy dark purple embroidered curtains obscuring the outside world, and the air was, if possible, thicker with the odor of spices, to which was added the oppressive musk of incense. More bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and a small potted plant – dead and severely disheveled – was on a small table nearest a window. The floor and walls were covered with strange symbols or scrawled, illegible notes. The few benches and chairs present were crammed with everything that didn't fit on the shelves: books and ingredients and clay pots containing malodorous substances, black and oozing and best left to themselves. A huge armchair, stained and burned in places, sat next to the fireplace, on which a small cauldron was boiling. On the chair sat a thin, almost lanky man, his face mostly obscured by a hat, with only his nose and lower face showing along with his sandy-colored hair. He was wearing a great bottle green housecoat, this looking worse for wear as well, singed and somewhat tattered, and he wore common enough clothing underneath. Despite the shabbiness of his clothes, he could still make himself respected, and Ichigo was left speechless for a moment, stunned by the man's general appearance and aura of mystery (and by the horrible state the room was in), but he managed to regain his composure.

"I'm… I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm here for my apprenticeship. Pleased to meet you." He held his hand out in greeting, but it was left unheeded.

A sly smile crept over the man's lips. "So Isshin sent you, huh… but weren't you supposed to come at the end of August? It's still July, you know. Come back a month later." He waved his hand imperiously.

"Actually it's the 24th of August." He stated in a deadpan voice. He wondered if this man dealt with the outside world at all. By the state of the place, it certainly didn't seem so.

He was sure his eyes went wide beneath the hat. "Really? Well, welcome then, Kurosaki-san. I expect great things from you."

**A/N: To those who don't know, 'magnum opus' means literally 'great work' in Latin, and it refers to the alchemical quest for the so-called philosopher's stone. I know I haven't finished Shattered Lives (and have to publish the new chapter!) but this just came to me two days ago and I couldn't help but write it. I was mentally debating if it should be Uraichi or Aizichi, but Aizichi won in the end - it's my favorite pairing, and with it I can manage to make the story all the more twisted and complicated *evil laugh*. If you find any inaccuracies, both in grammar and in context or weird medieval habits and stuff, please point out. The chapter titles are all alchemical processes or metals or elements used in alchemy. Salt is, according to Paracelsus, base matter and one of the three primes (from Wikipedia).  
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** And R&R!**


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